


A Dog's Life

by nyxocity



Series: Rising Force Verse [2]
Category: Sons of Anarchy, Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Male Friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-23
Updated: 2012-05-23
Packaged: 2017-11-05 20:48:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/410863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nyxocity/pseuds/nyxocity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set during part VI of Thunder & Sparks. Jax sends Dean on a mission with Tig. What happens next--Dean couldn't make this shit up if he tried. Rated mature for sex talk.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Dog's Life

“It’s a two-man mission,” Jax says, looking at Dean intently. “I want you with Tig, in case demons show.”

Dean nods, understanding. “You’re gonna stay here with everyone else? In the clubhouse?”

“Yeah.” Jax looks at him for a second, and then half-smirks at him. “We’ll be fine, dad.”

Dean rolls his eyes. “Yeah. And no wild parties while I’m gone,” he replies, droll.

Jax moves closer, leaning in, pressing his lips against Dean’s, pushing away with a rough hand against Dean’s shoulder. “Be careful.”

It’s still new, whatever this is between them. Dean’s not sure he’s ever going to get past stumbling over it every time he turns around. He still feels like he doesn’t have the first fucking clue what he’s doing here, but shit, it’s not like he’s ever had a clue about what he’s doing unless it’s fighting or fucking. 

“That’s the plan,” Dean agrees. 

 

*

 

They take the Impala, on Dean’s insistence, and it isn’t far to where they’re headed. Dean kills the headlights as they pull up near the place, six foot tall chain link fence glinting underneath the lights of the lot filled with eighteen wheelers.

“I’ll take care of the guard dog,” Tig says, sliding out of the car, leaving Dean bathed in the dim light from the dashboard, radio turned down so low he can barely hear it.

Tig’s only gone a few minutes, not nearly long enough for Dean to worry, but he relaxes slightly anyway as Tig walks up along the passenger side of the car.

“It’s gonna take twenty minutes for the drugs to kick in,” Tig tells him as he settles back into the seat. 

Dean nods. It’s a little uncomfortable, being in the car with Tig like this. Barely familiar person sitting next to him—

_“He likes you, too._

Shit. What?

_“Not like that.” Sam’s smile is half teeth, one corner of his mouth quirking upward._

It’s such a familiar expression, and Dean can’t help the hard curl of his own mouth, filled with as much pain as amusement.

_Shut up, Sam._

Tig drums his fingers against his thigh restlessly, and Dean can tell he’s working up to something, radio playing Creedence at low volume between them.

“Okay. I gotta ask, man,” Tig finally says, shaking his head as he lets the statement hang there for a moment before he looks over at Dean. “You and Jax. How’s that work?”

Dean’s still trying to figure out what Tig means when he goes on. 

“I mean, do you guys really…” he raises his brows at Dean meaningfully, and even though Dean still doesn’t know what the hell Tig’s talking about, he’s got the distinct feeling he’s not going to like it.

“What?” Dean asks.

“You know…when you…. fuck. Do you actually,” Tig pauses and makes motions with his hands. “ _Fuck_?”

Dean stares at him for a long time without blinking. They are so not having this conversation.

“Doesn’t it… hurt?” Tig asks with an expansive gesture, frowning like he’s struggling to understand how it couldn’t. 

Dean looks away from Tig and ignores him, staring out the through the windshield.

“Seems like it would hurt,” Tig adds after a moment.

“Okay,” Dean says, grabbing the door handle of the Impala. “That’s long enough.”

“The dog might not be knocked out,” Tig protests as Dean gets out of the car.

“I’ll take my chances,” Dean mutters, slamming the door shut behind him. 

 

*

 

The dog is laid out on its side on the asphalt of the parking lot about twenty feet away, one of its ears sticking up, pointed tip flipping over at the edge as it breathes evenly, chest rising and falling.

“What’d you give it?” Dean asks as they move further into the lot.

“Mushrooms.”

Dean stops in mid-step, turning to look at Tig.

“Crystal meth didn’t work out so good with the guard dog last run I made with Juice,” Tig explains, as if this is an ordinary mistake that any ordinary person might make. “Figured I’d try ‘shrooms this time.”

“You gave the guard dog _mushrooms_?” Dean asks in utter disbelief.

“He’s fine,” Tig says, waving a hand in the direction of the dog. “Nice, natural earth high. You’re fine, aren’t you boy?”

The dog lifts its head from the pavement to look at Tig, eyes reflecting brilliant green under the florescent light. It isn’t barking—not even growling—just staring at Tig with intent.

Aw, shit.

“See?” Tig says with a shrug, throwing out one hand. “He’s good.”

The dog starts to get to its feet, staggering, and Dean gauges the distance between them and the dog as compared to the rig carrying what they need. There’s not enough time or space, and he raises his gun, training it on the dog’s forehead.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Tig demands, angrily, hand knocking Dean’s arm down. “We are not killing the dog.”

Dean stares at Tig in disbelief for a split second. There’s no time for this shit. “We need to run. _Now_.”

“What’re you talking about?” Tig casts a glance over at the dog, which has begun to move toward them at a bizarre, arrhythmic trotting pace that’s still faster than a human can run. “He’s--”

Dean grabs him by his leather and yanks him along, not sticking around to argue.

There’s a tree growing up at the center of the lot, asphalt crumbling back around the edges of its roots. It’s a huge, hulking thing with lots of branches, some kind of goddamned pine tree and who gives a shit, because it’s their best fucking bet.

“Up,” Dean tells Tig, pushing him at the tree.

“Dean--”

“That dog is going to eat us and shit on our bones while it hallucinates rainbows. Climb. The fucking. Tree.” 

“It’s that or I kill it,” Dean offers, off Tig’s look.

“I’ll shoot you.”

Dean looks at the distance between them and the dog. 

“You’re on your own,” Dean says, patting him on the shoulder. Dean doesn’t wait for Tig to respond, grabbing hold of the branches and pulling himself up.

From the moment he closes his fingers around the bottom branches, he knows this idea sucks, sap clinging to his palms, gluing the folds of his fingers together. But it’s this or getting eaten or getting killed by Tig at this point. _If_ Tig survives.

Dammit. Jax’ll be pissed if he comes back with Tig killed by a guard dog. Not to mention, Dean doesn’t really want Tig to die.

“Dude,” Dean calls, reaching back with one hand, other gripping the tree to support his weight. “Come on.”

Tig’s hand slides into Dean’s as Tig yells out in pain, weight dragging against Dean hard enough that Dean understands he’s now involved in a full on tug of war with tripping-balls Fido. 

Jesus. He couldn’t make this shit up if he tried.

Dean braces his body against the trunk of the tree as hard as he can, knees lifted over branches, securing his weight, thigh muscles straining as he _pulls_ upward, yanking with every bit of strength he has.

He can feel Tig tear free, sudden jolt with the loss of Fido pulling on the other end, and he keeps going, helping Tig haul himself upward until Dean’s sure he’s got his footing.

Neither one of them hesitates after that, climbing up until they’re far above the ground of the parking lot. Dean is covered in pine sap, sticking like molasses to every inch of his skin, soaking through his clothes, chest resting against a branch, legs dangling down on either side against the tree trunk.

“You okay?” he asks, casting a sideways glance at Tig who’s sprawled out across the branch next to him.

“Fucker bit me.” Tig sounds offended and surprised, and Dean can’t help the hard smirk that curves his mouth.

“My whole goddamned ass is gonna be one big dog bite scar,” Tig mutters.

Dean holds back a rough laugh. “You gonna bleed out?”

“No. But it’s probably gonna get infected like the last one did,” Tig goes on, trying to get a look at his ass across one shoulder. 

“Worry about that tomorrow,” Dean replies, looking down through the greenery.

Apparently, the dog is either high enough, aware enough, or determined enough to just sit there at the base of the tree, staring up at them through the branches.

Joy.

 

*

 

“Jesus Christ,” Tig groans a few minutes later. “I can’t even touch it without my hand sticking to it.”

“On the bright side, the sap’ll stop the bleeding,” Dean says with thin, mirthless smile.

Tig pauses and then looks over at Dean, curious. “You ever been bitten by a dog?”

“Yeah,” Dean nods. “Hurt like a sonuvabitch for more than a week.”

Tig nods in agreement, and then says, in all seriousness, “The way my ass feels right now? That’s what I imagine getting fucked in it feels like.”

Dean can’t help the snort of laughter that escapes him.

“Why is that funny?”

Dean takes a deep breath, still smirking as he shakes his head, looking away from Tig. 

 

*

 

It’s at least twenty minutes later when Tig speaks up again. “You saying it doesn’t feel like that?” 

God. There’s no telling how long they’re going to be trapped here, and Tig is _not_ shutting up about this. Dean grits his teeth, nodding to himself. “You didn’t bring any extra mushrooms with you, did you?”

“Of course not,” Tig says, sounding offended. “We’re on a job.”

“That’s what I figured,” Dean sighs, feeling sap soak into his molecules.

 

*

 

Tig’s quiet for long enough that Dean figures the moment has passed, and he shifts, adjusting the weight of his body against the tree branch, feet hooking over the top, scooting backward through the greasy smear of sap until his body is balanced solidly, knees still hanging downward on either side.

Unfortunately, Dean’s movement seems to draw Tig’s attention.

“Why don’t you answer the question?” Tig asks, looking at Dean with genuine curiosity. “If it doesn’t feel like that, why don’t you just _say_ it?”

Jesus fucking Christ. Dean has almost had it with this entire situation. Tig obviously isn’t going to leave him alone about it, and they’re obviously stuck here for the foreseeable future—fine. 

“I’m saying,” Dean snaps, “if you’re so curious, why don’t you try it and find out?”

There’s silence between them for so long that Dean is torn between rejoicing over winning so easily or being completely weirded out that Tig’s actually considering it.

“No way,” Tig finally says, shaking his head vigorously, frizzy curls vibrating back and forth at the corner of Dean’s eye, and Dean is mildly relieved to be able to put Tig’s lengthy silence in the shock category. “There are lines, and then there are _lines_. If that does it for you guys, okay. But me… hell, even those farm animals were female.” 

Dean stops, staring at Tig. His mouth falls open and hangs there for a few seconds before he realizes that yeah, he’s got nothing to say to that, and closes it abruptly.

“It was a natural experience,” Tig explains.

Dean stops him, holding up a hand.

“We’re gonna pretend you never said that, okay?” 

 

*

 

Dean’s so restless that he’s ready to dig through his sticky pockets with the sticky hand that isn’t glued to his gun, just for something to do. 

“Just let me shoot it.”

“No.”

Tig would only wound him. No way he’d kill Dean. If he did, Jax would… well, Dean doesn’t know what Jax would do, but he’s pretty sure Jax would be pissed.

Dean sighs, and wonders if it’s worth risking it. 

 

*

 

“How about now?”

 

*

 

“Now?”

 

*

 

Dean finally has to ask.

“Farm animals? Really?”

“I ate a bag of mushrooms and handful of Quaaludes. The animals were there,” Tig shrugs. Off Dean’s look, he adds, “They were _big_ animals.”

Jesus. How is this his life?

 

*

 

They’ve been stuck in this tree for what feels like half an eternity, at least. Time in Hell moved quicker than this, and Dean is fucking _bored_. He resists the urge to run a hand through his hair, knowing that it’ll just smear more sap into his scalp.

If they ever get out of this, it’s going to _hurt_ Dean to be inside the Impala and be this sticky, and fuck, he’s going to spend the entire day cleaning the seats.

Dean peers down through the greenery at the dog, who cocks its head eagerly at him like its hoping Dean might shift his weight just a little too far and come falling down into its waiting mouth.

He’s got sap on his lips, and they keep sticking together when they’re not sticking to his teeth and there’s no part of him he can wipe them with without getting _more_ sap on them. One day, someone’s going to find him up here, the first fossilized human ever to be trapped in amber. If the lot owner doesn’t shoot them first thing in the morning.

“What is your deal with the dog, anyway?” Dean finally asks in exasperation. 

Tig runs the backs of his fingers underneath his chin, and Dean can see the way they stick and skitter across the skin, Tig finally tugging them forcefully from the short length of hair beneath. 

“I had a dog,” Tig says after a moment, lot lights reflecting in his blue eyes. “Missy. She was my girl.”

“And when you say ‘your girl’…?” Dean asks, desperately hoping.

“She was my baby. My best friend. There’s nothing like a dog, you know? They’re the best. There’s no bullshit. They just love you.”

Dean doesn’t know, but he’s willing to take Tig’s word for it as long as…

“This doesn’t turn out like the farm animals story, does it?”

Tig cuts him a scathing look. “What kind of sicko are you? What we had, it was special.”

Okay, then. “What happened to her?”

Tig shakes his head, mouth turning downward, creases in his face pulling tight as he looks down between the tree branches.

Dead or gone, one of the two. Way before her time by the looks of things.

“Dogs are innocent,” Tig says, looking down at the guard dog, fluorescent light shining up to highlight his features, wrinkles between his brows, around his mouth thrown into deep shadow. “Dog’s doing his job.” Tig glances over at Dean. “He doesn’t deserve to die for it. We’re the assholes here, we’re the threat.”

Dean gets that. He gets it a whole deeper than he wants to. But still… “And you gave him mushrooms?”

“I thought it would distract him, make him happy.” Tig lifts his shoulders shrugging. “But dogs are simple. No bullshit, no complications. They’re loyal to who they love, and they’ll kill to protect them and whatever belongs to them. It’s instinct. Not thinking. No distractions.”

Memory of Sam’s face, rippling through him, and Dean would have done anything to save him. “That’s people, too.”

“Some people.” Tig nods slowly, hands clasped together inside the smeared sheen of pine sap. “But dogs, they don’t make a choice. They don’t have to think about it.”

Or deal with it. Live with it.

Dean swallows, nodding, too. “Sucks to be human.”

There’s a light in Tig’s eyes before he looks back down at the lot that Dean recognizes all too well.

There’s a long pause between them, dog shifting its stance beneath them.

“You’re really not gonna tell me about you and Jax?”

“No,” Dean smirks.

Tig nods, mouth curling in a slow, approving smile.

 

*

 

“I saw this porno once…” Dean says, moving to relieve the lack of blood flow to his left leg. “There was this chick, and a snake.”

“The one with the albino ball python?” Tig asks, turning to look at him.

“Yeah,” Dean nods, surprised.

“Man, that thing she did, with the…” Tig makes a motion and Dean nods along in agreement.

“Right?”

 

*

 

They’re still talking almost half an hour later when below them, there’s the solid thump of a body hitting the ground, dog falling on its side as they both turn to look, pink tongue lolling as it pants, eyes finally closing.

In the distance, the sky is just beginning to lighten, purple fading to deep blue at the horizon. 

“Huh. Looks like your plan finally worked,” Dean remarks.

“Sleep tight, buddy,” Tig says, speaking to the dog, almost in an undertone. 

It’s a moment before he says anything else.

“Okay,” he says, looking at Dean. “Let’s get the package.”

 

*

 

They climb down the sticky fucking tree and Dean feels _violated_ by sap by the time they hit the ground. They’re covered in it, struggling to get equipped in a routine that’s better suited to a comedy skit than doing a job, Dean pulling his gloves on with his teeth and sheer determination.

In the end, they leave with the box they’ve been sent to get, Dean reasonably sure that they haven’t left behind any traces—as long as the cops don’t scrape the tree sap for DNA.

Tig stops on their way out and bends down, laying a hand alongside the dog’s muzzle, fingertips trailing down to its throat. 

“Some rest and a lot of water, he’ll be fine,” Tig says. 

Dean looks down at the dog, shallow breaths rising to fill its ribs and stomach. “I need a helluva lot more than that.”

Tig glances up at him sideways.

“Come on, Cesar,” Dean says, clapping Tig on the shoulder. “Drinks are on me.”

  
  



End file.
